KP
by A2MOM
Summary: Praxis and Cain spend a night on KP as punishment for a fight. A disgustingly crack!fic complete with water sports and Elbow Grease.


KP

"You know what, Praxis?" Cain glared at him. "I really hate you."

Praxis looked up, irritated, from the ten thousandth dish he was washing. "Yeah, Cain?" he snarled back, "I'm really glad."

This was all Cain's fault anyway, them both being stuck on four hours' worth of KP. All he'd tried to do was have a friendly chat with Abel in the mess the other day. He hadn't been standing that close to him, really. Not enough to smell how nice his soft, freshly shampooed hair was, or anything. And then, Jesus, the next thing he knew, he was wearing his chipped beef on toast for a hat.

Cain had launched himself across the table at him like some demented alley cat, so he'd defended himself by flipping the table in his face. Now everyone was wearing their lunch, or slipping in it and then laying in it. Then someone (probably Loki, that bratty fighter from the fourth floor) yelled "Food Fight!" and all hell broke loose.

The only good part was when the Lieutenant, that Big Guy, Encke, came over to separate the two of them, he had no idea which one of them had accidently smacked him in the mouth. Praxis wasn't about to fess up that it had been him. He'd rather keep his head attached to his neck.

But now he was stuck on KP with that little shit Cain. He glared at the back of his spiky head, sweating away over a huge, grimy cooktop with a bucket and sponge. The housekeeping droids normally did kitchen police, zipping about polishing, disinfecting and sanitizing; but not when some idiot pissed off the Big Guy. Word had it he had a real hard-on for old fashioned discipline, and had dug up some obscure reference to cleaning with something called Elbow Grease.

Praxis groaned, dumping the filthy dish water down the drain and staring bleakly at the remaining teetering stacks of dishes. He refilled his wash tub, added the disgusting soap (lemon scented? really?) and reached for dish ten thousand and one.

"What are you pissing and moaning about?" Cain complained. Praxis gritted his teeth and tried to ignore him. This had been going on for the past three hours, too. Cain whining, Cain bitching, Cain getting on his last nerve.

"I got the harder job, Cyclops. " Cain grabbed a towel to mop his face. Unfortunately, it was the one he'd used to degrease the vent hood , and now his forehead and the left side of his face were as black as his hair. He sat down with a huff on a nearby stool, fishing a cigarette out of his pants pocket and shoving it in his mouth.

"That was my job, dipshit," Praxis reminded him. "You're the one who insisted on trading." He grabbed a stack of dishes, carrying them over to the dryer. The whole front of his work coveralls was soaked and smelled like creamed corn. His back ached from the endless bending and scrubbing, and he was overdue for taking a piss. And there sat his Royal Highness, lounging back on his makeshift throne and blowing smoke rings at him. Praxis wondered fleetingly how long it would take anyone to find his body, if he stuffed Cain in the dryer instead of the dishes.

"Did not," Cain retorted. He flicked a spike of ashes in the clean dishwater.

"Did so," Praxis snapped. "Christ, you little prick; three hours with you and I'm talking like a third grader!"

He banged the dishes on dryer and began angrily loading them on the conveyer belt where they disappeared into the steam. "Maybe, if you quit bitching for five seconds, and actually got off your ass and did even half as much work as I've done, we could actually get the fuck out of here before midnight!"

"Got a hot date waiting?" Cain grinned, staying contentedly in his seat. "Finally get your new navigator to put out? What's his name—Aesop or Asshole or something?"

"Athos," Praxis said through clenched teeth, turning away so Cain wouldn't see the blush staining his face. It didn't work.

"Ooohoo!" Cain crowed gleefully, leering at Praxis obnoxiously. "Why, isn't that sweet? All pink in the cheeks at the very sound of his name! Bet your heart's going 'pitter patter' too."

"Shut the fuck up," Praxis snapped. He lobbed the greasy towel at Cain's fat head, swearing when he missed. "Get up you lazy ass, and start working!"

"Is he any good?" Cain went on, grinding the butt of his cigarette under his boot. He got up and sauntered over to where Praxis was washing another stack of dishes. Pressing his hands behind himself he gave a little push, seating himself on the counter top with his long legs dangling over the side.. He crossed his sinewy arms over his disgustingly stained wife beater, studying Praxis intently. "He always seemed like a stuck up little snot to me."

Takes one to know one, Praxis thought darkly. "For your information, he isn't," he said. "He's a great pilot, and he's been a really good friend, since Jackson died. "

Cain looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. No one made jokes when there were casualties among the flying teams. Not even an asshole like Cain.

"Yeah," he said softly, nodding. "Not putting out. Just what I thought."

Praxis gave an incoherent cry of rage and very narrowly succeeded in dunking Cain ass-first into the sink.

"Listen, you little mother fucker!" he yelled, as Cain wisely took refuge behind a work island, "he's putting out just fine! Fucking, sucking, rimming and riding! You name it, we've done it, or we WOULD be if I wasn't stuck—" he whipped his soaking wet sponge and this time, sweet! he didn't miss "-in this lousy—" a plate this time, that whizzed past Cain's left ear "-shit-hole kitchen-" now a coffee mug "-with you!"

Cain must have sensed he was out of handy breakables, because his head popped up from behind the butcher block.

"He lets you rim him?" he asked, annoyed. "Fuck, Abel won't let me do that."

"Yeah, God knows where your tongue has been," Praxis retorted. He huffed in frustration, looking at the results of his impromptu target practice. "Oh shit," he groaned. "Look at this fucking mess! We're never going to get out of here!"

Seething, he stalked over to a bug eyed Cain and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, shoving him against the wall. "You get on your hands and knees," he growled in his face, "and Start. Cleaning." He bounced Cain's head off the wall for effect. "And if it's not done, by the time I get back from taking a leak, you're gonna be on your hands and knees for something else!"

Praxis banged in to the nasty little head behind the kitchen, swearing under his breath. He was furious with that little bastard Cain for ruining what was left of the one night this week w he and Athos had a shift off together.

He closed his eyes, a little shiver running through him as he held his semi-firm dick in his hand. Leaning the other hand against the wall above the urinal he sighed in relief as he sent a warm, pungent stream of piss down the drain. What a waste…if only Athos was here, he smiled lustily, remembering the last time they'd done it in the shower. His little sex kitten loved to fuck; the dirtier, the better.

Athos had surprised him, by kneeling down in front of him under the shower head, and begging for a bath of a different kind. Praxis closed his eyes, shaking out the last few drops of piss as his dick grew fully hard. Athos had closed his eyes, moaning in rapture as Praxis had unleashed a warm torrent of urine in his face. God, he'd been delicious, up on his knees, legs splayed and stroking his pretty little pecker as the spray drenched his hair and face and ran down his sleekly muscled torso.

Praxis was panting now and jacking himself faster, remembering the way Athos had tipped his face up to get it on his neck, crying out as he brought himself to ecstasy with his—

"Need a hand?"

Praxis nearly jumped out of his skin as two strong arms encircled him from behind, and Cain's hand joined his on his dick.

"You were gone so long", Cain purred at his ear, his grip pumping sure and tight, "I thought I'd better come see if you'd fallen in. "He chuckled, giving Praxis' ear a little French kiss that made his knees nearly give way. "And look what you're 'up' to!"

"what the fu-fuck—hng!—are you doing?!" Praxis gasped, struggling, but Cain wasn't letting go anytime soon.

"Getting you off," Cain laughed, running a hot tongue up his sweaty, greasy neck. "But if you gotta ask, I must not be doing it right!"

Cain pulled back, fumbling with one hand and Praxis realized with horror he was undoing his fly. His heart began to hammer with dread, because he knew if Cain was going to try and fuck him, he was too horny to care.

"Oh God," he whimpered, as Cain's hands left his dick . He heard Cain spit copiously in his hand, and then the sound of him slicking himself. How the hell did he get in these messes anyway?

"Bend over, boyfriend, and get those legs together. Tight!" Cain rapped out, giving Praxis' ass a slap that made him jump. He plastered himself against Praxis' back, taking hold of his dick again and giving it a friendly tug. Praxis felt the hot, hard shaft of Cain's erection squeeze between his legs and he gasped, as Cain began to thrust. Wow, the fucker was huge. No wonder Abel always had a smile on his face.

He was almost sorry Cain hadn't fucked him, too. Especially when Cain came a few minutes later with a shout, drenching the urinal, floor and Praxis' pants with thick, sticky jizz. It was disgusting, kind of like the time he'd fisted Athos after he'd eaten tacos, but it didn't stop Praxis from wishing Cain had given it to him up the ass, instead of all over his shoes.

It also didn't stop him from having a real groaner of an orgasm about half a minute later. Wow. Apparently he didn't hate Cain as much as he thought he did.

"Urgh," Cain said, wrinkling his nose. "I don't know what's more gross." He picked up his foot , gagging when it made a squelching sound, and stepped discreetly away from Praxis. "The fact that I just had sex in this smelly little shithole, or the fact that I just had sex in this smelly little shit hole with you."

Praxis turned to him with a shrug. He wiped himself marginally clean and tucked himself back in. "I won't tell if you won't," he said lightly. Geez, what a lie. He couldn't wait to get back to his quarters, and give Athos a blow-by-blow.

Cain did a double take. "Yeah, well since I would rather cut off my 'nads then share this little secret with anyone," he made a queasy face, "you can count on me taking this to my grave."

Praxis grinned. "Especially Abel."

Cain froze. "Oh, you fucking wouldn't."

Praxis' grin grew wolfish. "Not if you go back out there and spit shine that kitchen," he said sweetly. "By yourself."

Cain's expression darkened and a braver man would have been wise to run. "You know what, Praxis?"

"You really hate me?"

"Yeah!"

"Well, that's good, Cain. Because I really hate you, too."


End file.
